Thursday, February 23, 2012

16 February 2012

A long time ago, #1 Son had to give a talk to his Boy Scout troop about planes and how they fly. As an early teen, he gave that talk without notes, without practice, without anything more than what he already had in his head. He held the group spellbound, stating in a matter-of-fact voice during his description of takeoff that once the plane was going fast enough on the runway, it would take off, and there wasn't much you could do to stop that, except slow down.

He flew airplanes before he drove cars. Well, except for that one time he sat in my lap and managed the truck in 4x4 low-range, but I did say cars, not trucks, and that should leave me just this side of a truthful statement. That was close.

I flew with him once. I get horribly sick in small planes, what with being susceptible to motion sickness, and that one flight would have to do. We were in a classic VW beetle, only smaller and with wings. He flew that plane with two feet, two hands, and his knees. Nothing was automatic. He was one with that machine. He might have been born in it.

It was at that moment I knew this boy was a natural pilot. The problem was that I was so sick at that moment I couldn't even have dinner with the rest.

Yesterday, after much patient waiting after application, think about a year, he gained admission to the the USAF flight school. I'm going to be grateful for that today and for a long time forward.

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